


Flight Focus

by WingletBlackbird



Series: Star Wars Fictober Challenge [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Podracing, Slavery, Star Wars Fictober, Starwarsfictober, podrace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 10:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12274743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingletBlackbird/pseuds/WingletBlackbird
Summary: Anakin's first time in a pod-racer.





	Flight Focus

Prompt: Flight

Anakin observes the pod-racer. It’s dented. The paint is chipped, scratched and dirty. It’s probably three races old, which is old for a pod. The engines are beat-up, definitely not reliable. Even for a pod-race this is going to be really, really dangerous. Anakin doesn’t care.

This isn’t the pod-racer he’s seen in his dreams since before he knew what racing was. That handsome, sleek, yellow with blue-markings, built for speed, fastest  _ever_ , racer that screams victory and freedom to him in his mind is one he has yet to see. (Sometimes Anakin thinks he may have to build it himself, it calls to him so, but there’s no way he can do that yet.) This racer doesn’t feel like victory, but it does feel like change, and Anakin feels anticipation swelling him up.

It’s not the only thing Anakin feels. He feels his mother’s fear. He feels Kitster’s fear. He feels the sympathy directed towards his mother, and the relief of the slaves who weren’t chosen to compete in this twisted fun of Gardulla’s. Gardulla laughs and he can feel that too. Right now, it overwhelms him. He’s okay with what he can feel, mostly, the things no one else can, not even his mom who doesn’t have the gift as strong as he does, but there are moments like right now where it consumes him.  The fear, which is always there, the joy, the paranoia, the greed, so much greed, the hate, the anticipation of all the species, and all the slaves come to watch, and it’s so,  _so_ much, too much. Then you throw in the beating, enveloping, heat of the suns, and Anakin wonders if you can drown in heat, like he’s heard you can in water. It’s a physical presence that wraps around you. He can barely breathe. Then there’s the loud shouts of bets on his life, ‘cause apparently so many wupiupi is all he’s worth, or vendors selling food, and the whirring sound of the engines, and the smells, and the  _sounds_ , and the heat, surrounding, crushing, thrashing him. He thinks he’ll go mad. It’s all a haze of too much noise. He sees white. He starts to panic, and he can’t block it now. He’s so much everything else, inside him, all of him, around him, is him, he can barely find Anakin. Where’s he in this mess? 

No, he just wants to get in that kriffing pod-racer and get it over with, so he does, even without the prompting from the smelly Gamorrean that most slaves need before they’ll get in and face their destruction. These matches don’t end in victory, they end in death. Gardulla makes bets on how long the slaves will last. It works two ways for her. She bets the slaves that aren’t worth much to her -the young and the old and the injured-and she makes enough money to buy new ones. She also gets to show off her wealth and power. Hey! Look how many of my slaves I don’t care if I kill. Well, kark, one way or another, at least it’ll be over.  Anakin’s not even nervous. He just wants it done, and he has this feeling, that’s not quite feeling, but more like a penetrating, guiding voice that is outside him, but is only heard from within him saying, “it’ll be all right.” This burning desire to fly becomes a talisman inside him that beats like a heartbeat, fly, fly, fly, is the only thing that focuses him. He just needs to race. He’s been dreaming of racing forever, doing it so often in his mind, he doesn’t see how it could be much different in life: Just fly.

The flag drops. He punches the acceleration. The roar around him fades to quiet. The echoing of smell, and emotion, and hot, too much, ooh please stop, and help me feeling goes-He’s  _flying_! He’s going so fast, and watch out for that stalagmite and quick turn, and duck below that precipice, and it’s  _amazing_. He’s never felt like this. He feels everything. He always has, and if he’s not careful it gets away from him. He gets lost in it: No longer. Here in this race, there is only the race, and the speed, and the pod beneath him. It all makes sense. He needs to feel everything now, and it’s good. Everything he sees, before he sees it, and everything he feels around him before it comes, it all has one focus. Survive the race. He’s never felt more free, more him, more alive, more focused. It’s never been clearer.

Anakin is so abundantly delighted by this discovery he just can’t wait to tell his mom. Control slips, just a second, and-

_Look out!_

-it’s a warning that’s not spoken, but he hears it anyway. He turns sharply left to dodge an unexpected blaster bolt. It’s just enough to save his life, but as the pod goes careening into the hard sand, Anakin blacks out.

He can’t wait to do that again.


End file.
